


Six Feet Under

by ufovalet



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5676511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ufovalet/pseuds/ufovalet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rudyard finds himself in a bit of a bind, Chapman tries to help, Madeleine collects data for her book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Feet Under

**Author's Note:**

> I'm shocked that there's only one work for Wooden Overcoats on here so far, so I took it upon myself to add to that number with this little one-shot.

It was a delightfully sunny day on the Island of Piffling. The kind of day for picnics and frisbee on lawns. The kind of day a mouse like me couldn’t appreciate properly while stuck in a fairly deep, approximately coffin-size hole in the ground with a certain funeral director.  
“I cannot believe this!” Rudyard Funn groused, “Another perfect plan, thwarted by Eric Chapman. The man is unbelievable!”  
Of course, Rudyard and I both knew very well that Eric Chapman had no hand in causing our current situation. In fact, it was almost completely Rudyard’s fault, although I would never say that to him directly. Some of the blame may lie with me. Being the more responsible of the two of us, I should have advised Rudyard against this scheme. But the promise of an exciting new chapter for my book; Memoirs of a Funeral House Mouse, was simply too much for me, and so I went along with Rudyard’s harebrained scheme and now I find myself suffering the consequences.  
“How long d’you reckon we’ve been down here, Madeleine? Ah, it doesn’t matter. No one will miss me anyway. Antigone probably won’t notice I’m missing for at least a week.”  
Rudyard grimaced and adjusted his position to sit up straighter, “I do worry about this leg though. If it doesn’t get attention soon it might not ever heal properly. Then I’ll walk with a limp for the rest of my life. I suppose it’s fitting though; an undertaker with a limp. Might even use a cane and start wearing a cape for dramatic effect.”  
Rudyard continued on in this manner for quite a while. I listened sympathetically from his shirt pocket. Eventually darkness began to fall. Rudyard began to doze.

\---

“Hello down there!” A cheerful voice called from the surface, startling Rudyard awake.  
“Hmm, oh, yes who is it?” Rudyard called up.  
“It’s me, Eric!” Chapman bellowed down, “Is that you, Rudyard?”  
Rudyard groaned loudly in response, either in physical pain from his broken leg or mental anguish that his savior was to be Eric Chapman.  
“I’ll take that as a yes!” Chapman replied brightly, “Hang on a tick, I’ll be right down to rescue you!”  
“Wait, no! Chapman-” Rudyard began, but Chapman was already in the hole.  
“Ah, it does seem to appear a bit deeper from down here,” Chapman observed.  
“Well now we’re both stuck,” Rudyard quipped dryly. I expressed my agreement.  
“Oh hello, Madeleine,” Chapman greeted cheerily, “Don’t you worry, I’m sure someone or other will be along any moment and notice us.”  
“Really? We are in the cemetery, and the only reason anyone normal would come to the cemetery is for a funeral, which there won’t be any of because both of Piffling’s funeral directors are trapped here,” Rudyard finished snidely.  
“Well yes, that is a rather good point,” Chapman admitted, “But someone will notice we’re missing. I’m sure Georgie will notice my absence soon and alert the proper authorities!”  
“I wouldn’t count on that.”  
“Rudyard, is your leg supposed to be sticking out that way?”  
“No, it is not. Very astute of you, Chapman.”  
“Ah.”  
The two undertakers sat in silence for a while. Rudyard promptly shut down any conversation Chapman tried to start. As the night drew on, the temperature started to drop significantly. I wasn’t too affected, finding myself snug in Rudyard’s pocket, warmed by his body heat, but Rudyard himself was shivering slightly in his thin dress shirt. Chapman was better off, as he was wearing a jacket and a coat over his long-sleeved shirt.  
“It’s cold,” Chapman observed, crossing his arms for warmth.  
“T-t-thanks,” Rudyard gritted out between shivers.  
“Sorry, it’s just… You look a bit cold, would you like my coat?”  
“No!” Rudyard’s voice went up an octave. Chapman looked a little startled and let it drop. A few frigid minutes passed.  
“Rudyard?”  
“What?”  
“Is that blood on your trouser leg?”  
Rudyard looked down to find that his lower right leg was nearly soaked in blood.  
“I suppose it is.”  
“Ah.”  
A few more minutes elapsed.  
“Rudyard I must insist you take my coat before you freeze to death. Or at least let me wrap it around your leg to staunch the bleeding.”  
“And w-why would you c-c-care if I die? T-then you’d have free run o-of Piffling’s dec-c-ceased.”  
“Well as nice as that sounds, I admit that I do actually enjoy our little game. The business of funerary directing would be far less enjoyable with no competition.”  
Rudyard didn’t reply. Chapman peered at him through the darkness. Rudyard had fallen asleep.  
“Oh, that can’t be good, Madeleine,” Chapman mused. He shrugged out of his coat and slid over to sit next to Rudyard. He draped his coat over Rudyard’s shoulders gently and tucked it in around him, then he removed his suit jacket and tore the sleeve off and wrapped it tightly around where he estimated Rudyard’s leg was bleeding. Rudyard remained unconscious through this whole affair, causing Chapman to frown a bit. Having done the best he could to tend to Rudyard, Chapman sat back and huddles close to his grave-mate, no doubt to conserve body heat. The next few hours passed uneventfully. Rudyard remained asleep for the most part, and Chapman occasionally checked his pulse to reassure himself he was still alive. At what I estimated to be about halfway through the night, Rudyard awoke again.  
“Hmm,” he hummed contentedly, eyes still closed, alerting Chapman to his consciousness.  
“Rudyard?”  
“Mum?”  
“No, Rudyard, it’s Chapman.”  
A crease formed between Rudyard’s eyebrows then his eyes shot open.  
“Chapman?” he asked weakly. Chapman noted with concern he had stopped shivering.  
“How are you doing?”  
“Chapman why are you hugging me?” Rudyard probably would have shoved Chapman away at this point had he possessed the energy.  
“To keep you warm.”  
Rudyard was silent.  
“Hey, Rudyard? Not going to go on and croak in a grave, are you? Imagine what people will say.”  
“Let me die in peace, Chapman.”  
“No way, Rudyard. No one’s dying tonight, except maybe Old Mr. Johnson, who I’m very surprised is still ticking. But you are not dying.”  
Rudyard groaned.  
“Hey, I know! Tell me how you ended up down here.”  
“You’ll just laugh.”  
“I won’t. Promise.”  
“It… it was a trap.”  
“A trap? For who?”  
“For you.”  
“Oh,” Chapman’s eyes widened.  
“At the funeral tomorrow, you were supposed to fall into the grave in front of everyone… but then I fell into the grave and now the joke’s on me I guess.”  
“I suppose it is at that.”  
“Chapman?”  
“Rudyard?”  
Rudyard mumbled something inaudible.  
“Huh?”  
“‘M sorry.”  
“Oh… uh.. apology accepted.”  
Rudyard looked surprised, “Really?”  
“Yep.”  
“Thanks.”  
Another silence elapsed, and Rudyard fell into unconsciousness again. Chapman ripped the other sleeve off of his jacket and changed Rudyard’s makeshift bandage, noting with more than a little concern that the first suit jacket sleeve was soaked through with blood. Chapman wrapped his arms around Rudyard and tried to stay awake so he could continue checking on Rudyard, although he didn’t know if he could do anything if he started slipping away.

\---

“Hello down there?”  
Chapman awoke with a start, raising his head from where he’d been resting it on Rudyard’s shoulder.  
“Yes, hello?” Chapman shouted up.  
“You chaps need a bit of help?” Chapman could tell it was Reverend Wavering.  
“Oh Reverend, thank goodness. We need help down here, Rudyard is hurt!”  
“Hold tight, I’ll be back in just a tick.” The Reverend disappeared.  
Chapman chastised himself for falling asleep when he’d meant to be keeping watch on Rudyard. He checked Rudyard’s pulse, it was faint but steady. The sleeve-bandage was bloodsoaked again, and Chapman didn’t want to think about how much blood Rudyard had to have lost.  
The Reverend returned a few minutes later with a few others. With a few ropes and a sheet, they fashioned a sort of pulley system to pull Rudyard out of the hole without jostling his injured appendage too much. Once Rudyard was out, Chapman put his discarded coat back on and climbed the rope himself. Chapman accompanied Rudyard to the hospital in the back of Reverend Wavering’s sedan, because Piffling’s lone ambulance was otherwise occupied. At the hospital, Chapman transferred me from Rudyard’s shirt pocket to his own and we sat in the waiting room while Rudyard was whisked away to surgery.  
“Don’t worry about Rudyard, Madeleine. He’ll be fine,” Chapman reassured me, though I knew the comforting words were more for his own benefit.  
“I suppose I ought to give Antigone a ring,” Chapman said, standing up. He had a brief word with the nurse at reception, and she handed him a phone handset. I scuttled up near Chapman’s ear to catch both sides of the conversation.  
“Funn Funerals, we get the body in the coffin in the ground on time.”  
“Georgie?”  
“Chapman?”  
“Yes, Georgie is Antigone there?”  
“Antigone? What, you’re not calling to ask me out again?”  
“Not today, Georgie.”  
“Ohhhhkay. Um, let me go get Antigone.”  
There were footsteps and the sound of a door slamming, then, “Hello?”  
“Antigone?”  
“Oh, you! I mean, ah shut up! Uh... I mean, what do you want?”  
“It’s about Rudyard-”  
“Oh bloody hell, what has he done this time?”  
“He’s had a bit of an accident. By which I mean he fell into a grave and broke his leg. I’m with him at the hospital now.”  
“Oh…”  
“Antigone?”  
“I’ll be right there,” she said shortly, and hung up.  
Chapman returned to his seat and waited.

\---

“Where’s Rudyard?”  
Chapman jumped, “Gosh, Antigone, I didn’t see you there!”  
At that moment, a doctor wearing surgical scrubs emerged from the surgery room.  
“Antigone, Eric,” he nodded at each of them.  
“Dr. Edgeware, what’s happened to Rudyard?” Antigone asked.  
“Mr. Funn is suffering from an open compound fracture of his right tibia. The broken bone nicked Rudyard’s posterior tibial artery, which caused quite a bit of bleeding. It’s quite possible he wouldn’t have made it through the night if Eric here hadn’t bound the wound as he did. As it was, it was very close.”  
Antigone, Chapman, and I simultaneously sighed in relief.  
“The anesthesia we used for the surgery was only localized, so Rudyard could be waking up any time. I’ll allow both of you to sit with him as long as you promise to behave.”  
I didn’t bother to remind him that there were in fact three of us here for Rudyard.

\---

Rudyard didn’t awaken for a few more hours. When he finally did, Chapman and Antigone both quickly moved to his bedside.  
“Rudyard?” Antigone said.  
“Oh God…” Rudyard groaned.  
“How do you feel?” Chapman asked.  
“Chapman?” Rudyard looked bewildered, “I had the most horrible nightmare about you.”  
“Erm, Rudyard,” Chapman prompted.  
Rudyard caught sight of the cast on his leg and his eyes widened, “Oh God!”  
“You clot, Rudyard, I can’t believe you fell into your own bloody trap. Serves you right.”  
Rudyard glared at his sister.  
“.... I’m glad you’re okay,” Antigone muttered quickly, “I need coffee. I’ll be back later.”  
Antigone scuttled away, leaving Rudyard, Chapman, and I alone.  
Chapman sat back down in the chair by the bed.  
“I’m glad you’re okay too, you know,” Chapman smiled.  
“Oh please.”  
“I did save your life you know. I could just have easily have let you stew in that hole alone.”  
“Yes, well, thanks for that, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”  
Chapman grinned and reaching into his shirt pocket, placed me gently on Rudyard’s shoulder “You’ll come around. Get better soon, Rudyard.”  
Chapman retrieved his slightly bloody coat from the end of the bed and left.  
“You’ll come around? What is that supposed mean?” Rudyard called after Chapman, there was no response, Chapman was gone.  
“CHAPMAN!”

\---

Fin


End file.
